


The Morning Chant

by andrasste



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Marriage, Oral Sex, PWP, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 06:08:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2218656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrasste/pseuds/andrasste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been over six years since he last slept in a Chantry, but he still finds it strange to wake to silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Morning Chant

**Author's Note:**

> Blame ranger-sebastian-vael (@ tumblr). Steelbloom belongs to her. Follow me at andrasste (@ tumblr) for more shenanigans.

Mornings in Starkhaven are always bright. The sun reflects off the white marble of the buildings and even in the most luxurious of the palace’s rooms, the glow is nearly blinding. Sebastian wakes to the invasion of light as easily as he once woke to the morning call to prayer. It’s been over six years since he last slept in a Chantry, but he still finds it strange to wake to silence.

Silence and the soft, snuffling breaths of his wife. Next to him, Steelbloom’s face is relaxed in sleep, smooth in a way it never is when she is awake. Sebastian loves mornings when he can just watch her, unworried, in her sleep; they are rare enough, because Steelbloom is disciplined beyond the meaning of the word. It’s one of the traits he most admires in her.

This morning is a rare gift.

Even as he watches, she snuffles a bit more, scrunches up her nose and buries her face deeper into the sheets to get away from the light flooding in from the window. Sebastian waits until she settles, runs his fingertips gently over her forehead. He caresses the bits of her that aren’t buried in blanket; thumb running over her temple, soothing, fingers just ruffling through the longer top strands  of her hair. His fingers dance over the rough-shaven sides of her head and he can’t help what must be an absolutely ridiculous smile.

Despite having turned from the brightness of the room, she nuzzles into his touch. Even with him she is rarely so open about her affections; Sebastian nearly feels guilty for the time he spends just taking in the way her skin feels against his palm, the way she flushes under his touch, lips parted on a happy sigh.

Not so long ago, he’d thought that taking leave of their vows would somehow cheapen their relationship, would lessen the affection and regard they had for each other to make way for lust. His fears were completely unfounded. Their attempts to give Starkhaven an heir were cherished memories, an awakening to something he hadn’t experienced even in his wild youth.

Their lovemaking was more than physical lust, though there was a fair helping of that as well. They’d been close for so long that intimacy was just a different way to show their devotion to each other, to the Maker. The necessity of it drove away most of the guilt he would otherwise feel; he was a Prince first and his duties to Starkhaven must take precedence.

Now that they’d started, the proverbial floodgates were opened. As they learned each other in this new way, necessity was belied by physical need. It’d been so long, and it was so easy to now pass off all of their passion as a beloved duty.

Steelbloom makes a soft sleeping sound and shifts beneath the blankets. Even out of its usual context the sound of that breathy sigh hits him low in the stomach, a stab of lust that leaves him slightly shorter of breath than he was before.

Following in the wake of that lust is an idea so wanton he can hardly believe it is his own at first. And before he can let himself pass on the idea, he leans forward, pressing his lips lightly to Steelbloom’s forehead; it’s more to assure himself than it is to comfort her. And then he’s moving down the bed, slipping the blankets over his head as he all but dives beneath them.

It is warm in the pocket created by their bodies. He can’t see under the blankets; they are too thick for the light to pierce, so he must find his way by touch. His hands skim Steelbloom’s body lightly, and she shifts as if she knows what he’s going to do, even though her breathing remains steady and even. He gently nudges her onto her back, ignoring the little sound of protest she makes from the Fade. Once laid out, she sprawls like she always does, and even the way her foot tries to get beneath him for his heat has him smiling.

His hands reach her waist, fit loosely under the waistband of the old breeches she sleeps in. They are cut off high up her thigh for comfort in the night, leaving her legs free to slide against the silk of the sheets. It makes it easier for him to get them out of the way, to slide them from under her gently and without disturbing her sleep.

She will be awake soon enough, and hopefully she finds the idea of waking up this way as pleasing as he does.

Sebastian slides further down the bed, carefully arranging her legs over his shoulders. Their bed is hardly long enough to accommodate them like this, but he makes do with what space he has available, thankful in this moment that he is better suited to archery than swordplay - if he were any bulkier this might not work the same.

His hands find the spread of her hips, the bracket of her thighs around his head. Here, her skin is soft, stretched over hard-won muscle; he admires this about her, her dedication to staying in fighting shape even though her days of Championing are over. He likes the callouses on her hands, the way her grip is alway strong, the press of her muscles around his ears at times like these. It’s all part of what makes her absolutely intoxicating, and if he had known these things about her before perhaps he would have shamed himself. No matter how seriously he took his vows she’d always been able to get under his skin.

But now she is laid out before him, wrapped around him; he grips her hip lightly with one hand and trails the other between her legs.

He finds the softest part of her by touch, the heat her of her in the nest of curls between her legs. He dips his thumb into her warmth and trails upward, applying just enough pressure to make her hips squirm against his hand, her thighs tense around his head. Sebastian works her until her breath comes a little more unevenly, her body reacting to his touch; when his fingers come away slick with her, he lowers his head.

The taste of her is exquisite on his tongue, musky and perfect. At first he only laps at her, fills his mouth with her taste; her hips are in constant, sinuous movement against his face. His hand on her hip does little to stop the motion so he follows it, meets her when she bucks onto his tongue and chases her when she relaxes back against the bed.

Sebastian moves to smaller, more delicate motions, precise shapes with the tip of his tongue, and Steelbloom relaxes with a sigh. The muscles of her thighs, tight around his head, loosen and her legs fall open to make room for more of him between them. She bares herself to him and he smiles against her skin, delights in the tremors he can feel in her legs.

Her breath is coming faster, and she no longer makes sleeping noises.

He renews his efforts, buries his face in her and breathes deeply of her arousal, works his lips and tongue against her. The hand not holding her hip is curled in the sheet, so he puts it to use, focuses long, firm swipes of his tongue on the center of her pleasure and works his hand between his chest and the mattress, presses two long fingers into her.

Steelbloom’s back arches and she groans, breathing hard, and Sebastian knows by the way she tenses all over that she is no longer asleep.

The first thing she does is pull back the covers, brushing over his hair with curious fingers.

The light is blinding after the dark under the covers, the air chill after the heat of them. He lifts his head just to see the look on her face, sleepy confusion and wide blue eyes. Her cheeks are tinged pink as she gazes down at him, and he smiles at her. “Good morning, lass,” he says, conscious of the way her slick coats his chin. He doesn’t give her a chance to say anything, but puts his mouth back on her and licks a long, slow stripe from the place where his fingers are buried inside, all the way to the top of her. “Did you sleep well?”

Sebastian curls his fingers as he speaks, revels in the way that she clenches around him. The fingers she’d rested on his head come alive again, digging into his scalp. He doesn’t give her any reprieve, doesn’t let up once his mouth is back on her. He glances up at her, watches the way her face scrunches with pleasure as he moves his fingers and tongue, the way her back arches.

Yes, this was a very good idea.

He works at her tirelessly, jaw aching, and when she comes she digs her heels into his back, muscles seizing, and he can’t hear her cries for the clench of her legs over his ears. He eases her through it, through the bucking and squirming, and when she finally relents he eases his fingers out of her, treats her to soft, gentle slides of his tongue until she’s whimpering, hands tugging at his hair.

Sebastian obliges her, moves up her body and settles his weight carefully over her body. Her legs bracket his hips and he is straining, can feel her heat through the thin cloth of his smalls and only her kiss keeps him from grinding into her, sating the most base of needs.

But Steelbloom’s kisses are a thing of wonder. This is also new, the sometimes gentle, sometimes rough clash of teeth and tongues; Steelbloom kisses him like she is dying and he is her salvation. Now, she licks her own taste out of his mouth, her kiss lethargic from sleep and her release.

“I did sleep well,” she mutters against the skin of his throat when she releases his mouth. “Though the waking was sweeter.” Her voice is husky with sleep, with arousal, and the sound of it takes his breath. Her mouth is moving over the point where his pulse pounds, teeth seeking out the sensitive places she has become familiar with, and for a moment Sebastian can only hover above her. She takes to this like she takes to everything; his fierce warrior Princess is stubborn and proud and loves to take him apart in any way she can.

She is doing an excellent job.

When she is finished at his neck, he is reduced to little more than a pile of limbs. Steelbloom takes advantage, uses her thighs to flip them over. She perches upon his stomach,  looks down at him triumphantly; if he has seen things more beautiful than Steelbloom atop him with that look on her face, as confident in their bed as she is on the battlefield, he can’t recall them. He finds the coordination to reach out, to run a palm over her thigh.

Outside their window, the Chantry bells toll the hour, announcing the official start of the day. Sebastian groans, covers his face with his hand. Above him, Steelbloom tenses for a moment, leans over him and peppers his collarbone with open-mouthed kisses.

“We don’t have time, love,” he says, fingers digging into her thigh a little at the way she nips at this skin. “We’ll miss the morning Chant.”

Steelbloom looks up at him innocently. “We’ll have our own.” Before he can protest, she’s whispering the words into the skin of his chest. “O Maker, hear my cry,” she starts, kissing her way down his body. “Guide me through the blackest nights. Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked.” Each line of the verse is punctuated by the brush of her lips somewhere new; the line of his ribs, the jut of a hipbone. “Make me to rest in the warmest places.” She mouths the sensitive inside of his thigh and he squirms, tears at the sheets.

There is an inherent wickedness to this, the way the Chant falls from her lips in a moment where it almost has no place. There is a secret thrill to the wrongness of it, something that shouldn’t feel as good as it does. She looks up sharply at him, expectant. He takes a ragged breath.

“O Creator, see me kneel—” he groans as she descends on him, takes him into her mouth. Of all the things they’ve done since recalling their vows, this is new; he has never felt the perfect, velvety slick of her mouth, the way that she swirls her tongue around him, hollows her cheeks. It’s been so long since anyone’s done this for him, he’s nearly forgotten how it feels. “For I walk only where You would bid me, stand only in places You have blessed.”

He pauses, can’t draw the breath to make words as she bobs her head, takes him in as far as she can and wraps a hand around what she can’t reach. She’s going to draw it out, agonizingly slow; one of Sebastian’s hands flutter between the tuft of hair at the top of her head and her shoulder, unsure where to land.

The long he goes without speaking, the more tortuous her motions become until it is a monumental effort not to flex his hips to find solace in the warmth of her mouth. She finally takes his hand in her own, twines their fingers together. Their callouses don’t match, rough-skinned joints over tough palms, but the solid strength of her hand makes him hold out for her, regain a small amount of control. “Sing only the words You place in my throa—oh, Maker.” The prayer is torn out of him; as he begins speaking she returns to her task with fervor, pleased that he is continuing.

He tightens down the loose threads of his control, strokes the skin of her hand with his thumb and focuses on where they are pressed together. “My Maker, know my heart. take me from a life of sor—row,” he gasps on the word, thighs tensing as she dips her tongue into the slit at the very top of him. “L-lift me from a world of pain. Judge me worthy of Your endless pride.” The last line is rushed, tongue fumbling over the words and he can feel the heat pooling low in his belly, can feel the newly familiar surge of release rising up in him.

Sebastian warns her, tugs her up by the hand, because even if they are being frivolous they can’t afford to be wasteful. She obliges him, grinning, licking her lips obscenely as she rises up, slides back along his body as she straddles his hips.

Steelbloom doesn’t make him wait, takes him in her hand and guides him. She sinks down, slow, biting her lip at the tide of sensations. Inside she is like silk, smooth and wet and hot all for him, and he takes a breath, knows that even now he must wait for her.

When he is fully sheathed inside of her, she makes a soft, pleased sigh, and the sound alone nearly has Sebastian coming undone. He digs his fingers into her thigh, squeezes his eyes shut, and when she starts moving he can only hang on.

Her voice rises above the blood rushing in his ears. “My Creator, judge me whole.” When he opens his eyes she is watching him closely, and he takes the hint even as every fiber of his being is on fire. “Find me well…” she starts, and his voice joins hers. “within Your grace. Touch me with fire that I be cleansed.”

His face flushes with the desperation in his voice, but he is happy to hear that Steelbloom is having a similar problem. her words come shaky, quick on gasps for air, and he manages to work up the coordination to touch her at the place where they are joined, to make sure that she enjoys this as much as he does.

She clenches around him, hips bucking and she lets out a low moan. She works herself on him with quick, straightforward grinds of her hips, thighs flexing. It only takes a few more thrusts, a few more firm circles with his fingers and she is biting at her lip, clenching down around him so tightly it takes his breath. “Tell me—” she moans, fingernails scratching at his chest. “Tell me I have— sung to Your approval!”

Even with his eyes squeezed shut, Sebastian finds her hips, grips her tight and flexes his hips up, chasing that delicious heat even as she shudders and bucks, trembles around him. Once, twice more and his muscles seize, pressing her down onto his length as gently as he has a mind to. Lighting arcs up his spine, heat low in his belly, and he doesn’t know if he cries out, can’t hear anything over the rush of blood in his ears and her soft, pleasured sounds.

When he is finished, he collapses back against the mattress, spent. She follows, rests her cheek on his chest and curls her hands under her. When he can move again, he runs his fingers over her back, stroking along her spine and she wiggles happily in his arms.

Perhaps he should feel guilty for misusing the Chant like this, but when she is warm and naked, sprawled across him, he can’t find it in himself to be ashamed. He nearly nods off, fingers stilling on her back, but Steelbloom moves and he jolts awake.

“We have to start the day,” he whispers, drawing patterns on her skin with his fingertips.

Steelbloom nuzzles into his neck, and he is struck again by how much he’s been missing all these years; the way she gets after they make love, all of her walls down and perfectly happy to let herself be loved as sweetly as he can. Her sigh tickles across his throat. “I suppose the council can’t wait, can they?”

Sebastian chuckles. “We’ve already missed the Chant. If we don’t make an appearance soon they’ll start looking.”

Another soft groan gusts across his skin and then Steelbloom is rolling off of him, huffing unhappily. As she moves to sit up, to leave the warm nest they’ve created in the sheets, Sebastian catches her arm and tugs lightly. She turns, raises an eyebrow, a fond smile playing at her lips despite her annoyance at having to move.

“I love you,” he mutters, levers himself up to kiss her. He doesn’t think he says it often enough, lingers on their kiss to emphasize his point. She melts into him again, arms reaching around his neck.

If anyone comes looking, they don’t hear the knock at the door.


End file.
